


Bury all your secrets in my skin

by PervincaViola



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 11:03:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13657695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PervincaViola/pseuds/PervincaViola
Summary: He knows nothing of ladies and castles and iron thrones, but he thinks he knows love and affection.{Alys Karstark/Sigorn of Thenn}





	Bury all your secrets in my skin

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Possessions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/807007) by [Laurelwreath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurelwreath/pseuds/Laurelwreath). 



> I fell in love with this couple when I first read the books. I fell in love again when I found the works of *Laurelwreath* and I couldn't help but write this little thing. It's kind of a tribute for her wonderful stories, and mine is set into her universe. As usual, you may find some mistakes, and, as usual, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated.

 

 

The first time it happens a fortnight after he conquered Karhold and gave it back to its rightful lady. In their bedchambers, silence is interrupted only by slick and wet sounds and broken breaths. Accostumed to waking up at the slightest sign of danger, Sigorn opens his eyes in the semi-darkness of the room and remains silent. The noises are coming from the other half of the bed and by squinting his eyes he sees it: in the light of low-burning candles Alys has a hand on her mouth, the other one between her thighs. It takes him several moments to realise she is touching herself. His mouth goes dry, his blood pumps faster, but there is a certain bitterness in hearing her muffled sounds; after all, a wife should turn to her husband to satisfy her pleasures, and before a fire and that witch he promised to keep her warm every day.

But perhaps, simply, he is not the object of his wife's thoughts; maybe it's Lord Crow or maybe her dead betrothed – that Daryn – she talked of a few times, enough for him to be overwhelmed by absurd feelings – rage and jealousy.

His blood is hot, but he chooses to pretend he's asleep. He would not even know what to say and not just because he doesn't know the right words in the Common Tongue. When she stiffens and a moan escapes her lips Sigorn tightens his jaw and bites his lips to stifle the instinct to take her there and then – Alys is unbearably beautiful with her legs half open and her cheeks red. He closes his eyes and lets her have her way.

He wakes up at dawn with his wife's head resting on his shoulder, her hot body in his mind and her moans echoing in his ears, and he silently wraps his hand around his hard prick.

* * *

 

She does not wake him up every night, but every night they make love. Sigorn squeezes her in the stone corridors leading to their rooms, laughing when she whispers that it is not proper, not at all the behaviour expected from the lord and lady of Karhold. But then he's not a lord and Alys melts into his kiss and laughs in his mouth, and blushes when he closes the door behind them with a kick.

Sigorn has always and only known the world beyond the Wall; he knows nothing of ladies and castles and iron thrones, but he thinks he knows love and affection. And for it it is difficult not to believe Alys is thinking of him and no one else when she rides him and entwines their fingers, when he pulls gently her dark mane and kisses the groove between her small breasts, and she giggles tangling her fingers in his hair.

Perhaps he's just deluded and she _does_ think of someone else. And yet she is so willing and eager for his touch, so warm when she laces her legs around his waist, welcoming him in her warm centre.

Ferinn is just a distant memory – Alys had called her his sweetheart, his lover, but now she's his _wife_ and she is _real_. It's _Alys Karstark_ the woman he has on his mind and under his hands when he comes with a grunt and hugs her tightly – it's Alys and no one else.

 

She had been led to believe that touching herself was a sin in the eyes of the Gods. It may be a sin, but Alys Karstark has always been defiant; otherwise, she wouldn't have fled from a marriage she didn't ask for, she wouldn't have accepted to marry a man like Sigorn of Thenn – a fearless warrior, a proud Wildling. And it's her husband whom she thinks of when she slips her fingers under her shift, when she rubs and caresses herself moaning quietly. She always looks at him before doing that, observing his strong facial features, his muscled chest and broad shoulders, and she recognizes that he is handsome in a rather savage and twisting way.

They make love every night. Sometimes he is gentle, sometimes rougher, sometimes they are both so eager that Sigorn takes her against a wall and she can't help but groan in his ear all her pleas. Sigorn always looks for her, but he rarely says her name, not even when they come together, or when he kisses and caresses her hair with unexpected tenderness and she clings to him breathless.

He's her husband, and she doesn't reach for him in the middle of the night, when she wakes up with an urgent need inside her – would he think of her as a wicked and lustful woman, would he turn away from her? Her greatest fear is that he's thinking of a woman he loved _before_ and she is not brave enough to find out the truth; She doesn’t want to beg him to make love to her when he may desire another woman in her place.

«Sigorn» she whimpers instead, and drowns into the heat between her legs.

* * *

 

That night he wakes up because of the slight shift of the bed, and because of his wife's voice.

«Sigorn» she murmurs, sweetly, her eyes closed, her moist lips glistening in the suffused light and her hand resting under her nightgown. His little lady wife, his Maginn, is calling his name in a way that makes his blood boil and, at the same time, his chest ache. «Sigorn» she repeats, and then shudders.

He can not bring himself to pretend he's asleep, not this time, not after having heard her moaning his name. He slowly turns on his side, then, and reaches out to touch lightly her cheek. She immediately opens her eyes and turns her head sharply, while her breath is cut off.

«I-I» she stutters, blushing furiously and pulling back her hand, looking at him like a deer surrounded by wolves and then lowering her eyes with shame. Sigorn suddenly recalls that she had been untouched their first night and remembers what he had heard about ladies, sins and Gods, and smiles.

«You think of me?» he asks quietly, putting a hand under her chin and lifting it gently so that he can look into her grey eyes, and she gives him a half helpless and half pleading look. Her wounded pride makes her redden even harder, but she gasps when he slids a hand up her thigh, gently groping her through her smallclothes. «When you do this?» he continues, and presses two fingers inside her smallclothes, just to find her soft and warm and so unbelievably wet that it makes him instantly hard. He kisses her neck, nuzzles it, desperate to know whether she dreams of him, whether she wants him as much as he wants her.

«Yes» she hisses, trembling under his touch, and he smiles again.

«I think of you, too» he whispers in her skin, with hoarse voice, and when he looks at her she is smiling so softly, so openly, that he realises they shared the same fear – someone else they'd rather have, someplace else they'd rather be.

«Show me» she says then, pressing her hand on his own, on her hot and wet centre. «Please» she adds, and he complies her desire, exposing her wet folds with his left hand and freeing his erection from his breeches with the other. He moves his wrist up and down his hard prick, slightly and slowly, looking at her while he blushes slightly. Alys is watching his hand, mesmerized, and she is beautiful with her dark hair falling onto her moon-pale skin, with her lips half closed and his hand between her legs.

He is taken aback when she stretches out her own hand and tentatively touches his hardened shaft, her fingers flickering over his own – they have done this before, but this time is just _different_.

«Alys» he groans and she smiles to him and he can't help but kiss her and climb onto her, pressing her into the mattress. She spreads her legs apart and slides her arms around his back while he takes her, thrusting into the hot and sweet wetness that was meant just for him. He sneaks a hand between their bodies and rubs her swollen nub until she pants and shudders, moaning his name like a lullaby. «Sigorn» she whimpers in his ear, and he comes watching her eyes, hearing her sweet pleas, feeling her wetness between his fingertips.

They are both breathless when he takes her in his arms, gently brushing away the sweat from her face, and Alys snuggles up against him, smiling in the crook of his neck.

«Thank you» she tells him, and he kisses her temple and holds her tighter.

 

 


End file.
